


Conversation on a Cloud

by Ralkana



Series: Conversations [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: #coulsonlives, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Painkillers, Phil's on the good drugs, Serious Injuries, the cellist is a lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is floating along on a bright, beautiful cloud of painkillers, which is nice. It passes the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversation on a Cloud

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE.**
> 
> I read too many beautifully sad stories in a row, and I needed some fluff.

 

Phil is floating along on a bright, beautiful cloud of painkillers, which is nice. It passes the time. The pain that lives in the middle of his body, clawing and tearing at him like a snarling beast, seems to be sleeping now, only giving him a sharp reminder of its presence whenever he takes a particularly deep breath.

The door opens, and he glances over to see Clint slip in.

“Hi,” he rasps, and Clint’s eyes widen.

“You’re awake.”

“Mmm. Flying pretty high right now.”

"I can see that," Clint answers with a chuckle as he steps closer and sits carefully beside him, but there is something missing in his laugh.

“’s wrong?”

“You’re stuck in here on the good drugs with a big hole in you. That’s pretty wrong.”

“Mm mmm.” He studies Clint’s eyes. Pretty, pretty blue. Not ice blue and empty. Gotta thank Tasha again. “It’s something else.”

The corner of Clint’s mouth kicks up, and Phil wants to lick it. “Can’t get anything by you, even when you’re stoned off your head.”

“Dunno why you even try.”

“We’ll talk about it after we spring you from this joint.”

“Barton.”

It’s a pretty weak version of his field voice, and Clint arches an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir?”

“Spill it.”

“Seriously, Phil, it’s not that important. We’ll talk about it later. You won’t even remember this conversation.”

“Bet you a dollar.”

Clint laughs. “I know better than that.”

“We _may_ have to talk about it again later,” Phil concedes, “But we’re gonna talk about it now.”

His hand fumbles along the bed, and Clint sees it, curling their fingers together. Phil squeezes as much as he can.

“Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

Clint sighs. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just... I was sitting in Stark’s dining room worrying like crazy about you, and I overheard him and Pepper talking about trying to track down the cellist in Portland you’ve apparently been dating on and off for several years.”

“Mmm, that. Ms. Potts is terrifyingly good at extracting intel. Be glad she’s on our side. Really glad. She wouldn’t let it go, and I had to tell her something.”

“Why…” Clint is staring down at their entwined hands, where he’s gently stroking Phil’s knuckles with the back of his free hand. It feels sooooo good, and Phil is struggling to focus on Clint’s words. “I guess I’m wondering why you didn’t just tell her about me. Why we never told anybody about us. We’ve never talked about it.”

“Hey. C’mere.”

“I’m right here, Phil.”

“C’mere,” he insists, and Clint smiles ruefully as he slowly leans over, careful not to jostle Phil.

The kiss is soft and warm, and over far, far too soon. Phil thinks that the little whimper he hears when it ends might have come from him, but he can’t be sure.

“Look at me, please,” he says, and Clint does, and Phil sees the uncertainty he’s trying so hard to hide. He hates it, and he hates every single person who’s ever done anything to put it there. The idea that he might be one of them is not okay at all. 

Angry with himself, he tries to shift in the bed, barely swallowing a gasp. Bad, _bad_ idea, but the jagged shards of pain push the fog back, just a little, and he really hopes his eyes are clear as he stares into Clint’s. “I love you, okay, so much it's kinda ridiculous, and I have never, ever, _ever_ been ashamed of you or what we got goin' here, Clint. Don’t think that.”

Clint's eyes are wide, and yeah, maybe the drugs are making it much easier to say the words Phil hardly ever says. He's gonna have to work on that. After a second or two, Clint shakes his head a little. “Then... are there regs against it? Is that it?”

“No regs. 's just... okay, when Nick brought me on, I gave SHIELD all of me, no regrets and no questions asked, but my life’s different now. SHIELD owns enough of us, Clint. Didn’t want to give them this too. I wanted this for us. For me. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Clint smiles again, and Phil can see that it’s lighter now. That’s good. Phil likes it when Clint’s happy. “Okay,” Clint says. “It’s okay. I understand now.”

"Pretty smile," Phil says, and Clint laughs. Phil smiles back, and then frowns a little. "I don't think I meant to say that."

"I'm almost sure you didn't, Phil."

“So, you wanna go public with this? With us?”

“It’s not that imp -- ”

Phil tugs his hand as hard as he can. “Stop. 's just as important as what I want, Clint, but you gotta tell me what you want.”

Clint sighs and rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s not like we need to hold a press conference or anything -- Stark’s the diva on the team, not me, but yeah, I’d like to tell the team. And SHIELD. And if other people find out, well, great. I _want_ people to know, Phil, and I'm really, really sick of trying to hide that I can't concentrate on anything because I'm always wondering how you're doing. I plan to be with you during your rehab every damn step of the way, and I don’t want there to be any problems or questions or stupid comments ‘cause I want to be focused on you and I don’t need to be distracted by always having to kick somebody’s ass. So, I guess we need to fill out Form 29B, Section 84-M, subsection 47 or whatever it is that HR has that makes it official that we’re together.”

Phil chuckles, and then groans when the beast snarls and snipes at him, but the pain clears his head enough to remember the order of the letters and numbers. “Y'mean AR/ASC27: Agent Status Change due to Domestic Partnership -- ”

“I am _so_ not surprised you know that -- ”

“ -- or Marriage.”

Clint looks sharply at him. “Phil?”

“Been thinking 'bout that one a lot lately. You wanna make it official, and that's fine, but I’m thinking 'bout making it permanent.”

The color has drained from Clint’s face, and Phil tries not to think about what that might mean. His thoughts are pretty fuzzy now, so it’s not that hard.

"Pepper's also really, really good at planning things. Party things. Bet she'd help us. With the wedding."

“Phil...” It’s barely a breath of sound. Clint’s face has gone incredibly soft, his eyes wide, his lips parted, and God, Phil wants to just hold him, and this whole stabbed-by-a-crazy-god thing _really_ sucks.

“D'you want to? C'mon, Clint. Let's get married.”

“Dammit, Phil, you cannot ask me that when you are drugged up to your eyeballs. It’s not fair.”

 _That’s not an answer_ , Phil thinks, but maybe it is, because Phil can see everything he needs to know in Clint’s eyes, the longing and the frustration and the love and the incredible, sparkling happiness, and suddenly he feels like he could fly, for real.

 _So this is joy,_ he thinks hazily. _It’s even better than the morphine._

“Pretty sure it’s way further than my eyeballs,” he muses. “I think you could probably say that I am drugged up all the way to the ends of my hair and not be wrong.”

“Then you see why I can’t treat that as a serious suggestion right now.”

“It’s a very serious suggestion! The most serious!” Phil argues, and then he stops, confused. "Wait. Was it a suggestion? Was s'posed to be a question. Did I screw it up?"

Clint laughs shakily, and Phil feels like he should be frowning, but his eyelids are very, very heavy. “I could make it an order instead.”

"You ordering me to marry you, then, sir?" Clint asks softly, and Phil hums as he feels Clint's hand carding gently through his hair.

"You gonna follow it?"

"Not a chance. But I promise, Phil, if you really mean it, when you're off the meds, you can ask me as many times as you want, and I will say yes every time.”

“Haven’t even said yes once yet,” Phil grumbles, his eyes closed now. 

"It's kind of hard to say yes to a question that hasn't even been asked."

Phil shapes his next words very carefully so they won’t be slurred. “Marry me?”

“Yes. You’d better remember this, Phil, or I’m going to have to kick your ass. Yes.”

“Good. ‘s good,” he sighs, and sleep drags him under.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

It takes them a while to wean Phil off the heavy meds. He doesn’t know how long, since his sense of time is hazy and undefined, but he wakes up one day from a night of real sleep rather than opiate-fed oblivion. The pain is pretty bad, but his head is clear, and Clint is sitting in the chair at his bedside, watching him with tired eyes, his magnificent arms crossed over his chest.

Waking up to see Clint beside him is worth every minute of the fear, every second of the pain.

“Morning.”

“How are you feeling?”

“My head’s clearer.”

Clint studies him for a moment, those sharp eyes taking everything in. “I can see that.”

Phil breathes deeply, letting the pain focus him. “You promised me, Clint. As many times as I wanted, you said. Will you?”

The realization breaks over Clint’s face like sunrise, and his smile is blinding. “Yes.”

“You owe me a dollar,” Phil says, and Clint is laughing as he kisses him.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> Man, the plot bunnies in this fandom are _vicious_! This is the first time I’ve finished 3 pieces in a week since my first days in online fandom, ten years ago, and I was unemployed then.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
